


Intimate Writings of Jane Eyre: Being that material which was, by necessity, expurgated from the author's public memoirs.

by joy_shines



Category: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: Biting, Cherry-picking biblical quotes and theology, Consent Issues, D/s flavored interactions, F/M, Heresy, Kissing, M/M, Magdalene heresy, Masturbation, Mr. Rochester is a smooth talker, Mythology References, Obedience, Period-Typical Homophobia, So much kissing, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/pseuds/joy_shines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane wrote faithfully about her life - but self-preservation required some censoring - and a small amount of prevarication. As she approaches the end of her days, she revisits the material excised from her autobiography.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I have several more chapters planned - in theory, at least. Ratings, relationships, characters, and tags will be updated accordingly.

Reader, you know I married him. But there is much I have left unsaid, for fear of censure by my fellow walkers on this earthly trek. And indeed, at the time I first chronicled my life, writing such things as I have to share with you now would have caused me to be branded as a heretic, a deviant...and worse. Even now, we are not so civilized that I am without fear - I may yet find my old neck in a hangman's noose. However, I have not much left to lose, so write I shall.

     I have said that, on the night he confessed his love for me, Mr. Rochester came to my room during the storm to reassure himself that I was well and at peace. I heard his step in the corridor before he tapped on the door, so I was in my dressing-gown by the time he knocked.

"Jane? How are you?" I could not stifle a smile at the thought that all the urgency in his voice was not, perhaps, solely out of concern for my physical well-being.

"I am well Mr. Rochester. Oddly, the storm persists in remaining outside the house. I am therefore warm and comfortable." The doorknob rattled.

"Minx! Here I am, concerned for her mental and spiritual health, concerned that my darling might have been frightened, and she mocks me!"

"She is not as fragile as you would sometimes imagine, sir." I fancied I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door.

"Then she should open the door to me, that I might hold her in my arms and confirm her hardiness by observation." His voice was lower, dangerously so.

"Sir, it would hardly be proper for me to open my chamber door to you, who so recently declared your love for me, at this hour of the night." I tried to keep my voice steady, gentle reader, but I fear it quavered.

He began speaking, low, so low that I was obliged to approach the door to hear him. His little friend, he said, had always been so obedient to him in all things, and he had hoped that it would remain so. He had hoped that his Janet would be willing to oblige his every wish, just as he was willing to grant hers. He had even - God, was it so much? - hoped for an embrace from his dear love at this cold, unwelcoming hour of the night. I found that my hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn.

"Well, Jane? You delight in submitting your will to mine - why do you resist now?" The answer came to me fast, but barely more than a whisper.

"I don't trust you, sir." There was a long moment of silence.

"Would I ever harm you, Jane?" His voice was a strange blend of amusement and restraint.

"No, sir, I do not believe you would ever knowingly harm me. But what one views as harmless, another may see a great danger." Another moment of silence.

"Answer me this, Jane: where are your hands?" I became keenly aware of my hands, and resisted the wild impulse to rearrange them into a more serene posture.

"One is gripping the doorknob, sir, and one is clenched at my side." He thanked the Almighty that at least his Jane was still truthful with him and asked me why, pray tell, if I thought it was improper of him to ask me to open my door to him, was my hand on the knob?

"Because though I know it is wrong, my soul leaps up to fulfill your wishes - you know that my keenest earthly joy is to obey you in all that is right, sir! It seems I also desire to obey you in - "

"In what, Jane?"

"In even things that would dishonor me, sir." I perceived that my dear Mr. Rochester must be in some degree of distress, for the sound that issued from him was not precisely human - it put me in mind of a caged wolf who smells, but may not approach, a freshly killed lamb.

"Do not test me further - open the door, and propriety be damned!" Who could deny the voice she loved most when it spoke so commandingly? Nay, indeed, I have met those who could resist anything - but I am not of their number. The next instant, I was wrapped in the warmth of my dear Edward's arms, shivering with the intensity of my relief. Indeed, it seemed as though I had been holding my breath for the better part of our conversation and only then began to breathe again.

"I knew my Jane was obedient. I knew she would not resist the one she loves so well - no, my good fairy cannot help but give her rough knight anything he desires." He was behind me, dear reader, one hand cupping my face as he spoke into my ear. My knees buckled, and I felt as though my innards had dissolved into a great ocean of longing, spiked with waves of fear. His other arm tightened around my waist, anchoring me to him.

"Do you trust me, Jane?" To my shame - then, that is, I would feel no such shame now! - I could not speak, only groan and shake my head.

"No? Moaning in my arms, and you do not trust me, Jane? Do you want me? Answer me this time, I crave your voice."

My mind was in confusion - I could not find my faculty of reason, and feared I should not be able to obey, but the answer tore out of me, ripped from my throat - "Yes!" His grip on me tightened.

"I knew it. This is the last question, Jane, and you must answer truthfully - I demand it. Are you afraid?" A chill settled over the fire flowing in my veins. I would not lie to my master, my lover.

"Yes, sir. I am afraid."

"You are afraid of me?"

"Of what you might do, sir. It seems I am willing to throw propriety to the winds for you, sir, but that does not mean I am free of a maiden's fears." He heaved a great sigh, and sat, still supporting me, on the bed.

"Sit at my feet, Janet, and let me dispel your fears." I knelt beside him, acquiescing when he guided my head to his lap, stroking my hair.

"I am not a man of great self-control, Jane. But I would sooner lose Thornfield and all within it, save you, than coerce you - even in your love for me - to do something which causes you fear. You love to obey me - and I delight in your obedience. But St. Paul has said that lovers must be in obedience to each other - so I will obey your every wish. I will do no more with you than I have done tonight unless you ask me for it, Jane. I will do no more than hold your sweet form and kiss your lips unless you beg me to do so. I swear this to you, Jane." I looked up at him, for it seemed that his voice contained a strange amount of fire for a man declaring his intention to go against his nature, a man dedicating himself to restraint and moderation. Wonder of wonders, he was smiling - a wide, puckish grin under eyes burning with passion.

"Thank you sir."

"Are you comforted?"

"Yes, sir. Very much so."

"Good. I will retire to my room, and contemplate every curve of your form, and how much I should like to run my tongue over each and every inch." I gasped audibly.

"Mr. Rochester!"

"I am a cunning man, Jane. I shall do nothing that you do not beg me to do - but I shall speak as I please." That devil's grin parted his lips again, then he was kissing me, kissing me with such fervor that I thought I should die (I should have meant the little death, if I had known what it was) from the pleasure.

And then he was gone.


	2. In the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is disturbed by her reaction to her love's verbal vulgarities. Rochester wishes to investigate this matter further.

A few days later, we were walking in the garden, Adèle playing badminton with Sophie nearby. Since the night of the storm, we had both been giddy with our newly-proclaimed love, but my Edward had not repeated his verbal indiscretions. Indeed, he seemed more calm, composed and restrained, and it was I who was burning up from the inside out, continually returning to the image of his face pronouncing those words. In truth, reader, I did not understand why my love's words were so compelling to me, only that they were. I was slowly developing the opinion that I must be even more wicked than I had previously thought since I could not tear my mind away from this image which was surely perverse and sinful. We walked in silence as I considered this thought.

"Jane, you must tell me what weighs on your mind. It is a fine day - the sun is warm, the breeze is cool, and you walk alongside a man who adores you. Why do you look so somber?" Reader, I had not intended to unburden myself to him, but truth will out, as they say.

"Sir, I am only thinking that I must be a particularly wretched specimen of humanity - don't interrupt me! I am no angel, despite the delusions you harbor, and I'll put your mind to rest about them straight away. It is just this, sir: I have not stopped thinking about...about what you said to me since the night you proclaimed your love. Your words resound in my internal ear every few moments, and they stir a fire in me which must be unholy." I am ashamed to say that he affected a sneeze in order to cover what must have been laughter.

"Oh, Janet! I knew you were rare, a fine beauty untouched by the world, but this does beat all! Now Jane," he took one of my hands in both of his, stroking it, "banish Mr. Brocklehurst from your brain! The harsh words of withered old men shall no longer guide you. You know your Bible, do you not?" I affirmed that I did.

"Then can you tell me what book is situated between Ecclesiastes and Isaiah?"

"The Song of Solomon, also called the Song of Songs, sir."

"Indeed. Now, is this book not rife with images and acts that fools such as your former director would faint at? Is it not deliciously erotic, full of the pleasures of the flesh and the delights of love?" That same heat was rising in me - what my master said was true, and there was no denying it. I had often studied this book at my daily devotions, imagining myself the dark bride and my dear Edward the holy bridegroom.

"It is so, sir, but it is merely a metaphor for the way that Christ loves his Church, and thus each individual soul..."

"And how should that be, as it was written long before Christ walked the earth?"

"I know not sir...perhaps it speaks of the Almighty's devotion to the children of Israel..."

"Or perhaps it speaks of a man and a maid who greatly desire to do those things that men and women who have not been taught shame naturally desire to do with one another. Plainly, Jane, the holy Bible contains a whole book devoted to the pleasures of fucking."

Reader, I stopped in my tracks, shocked at my master's language. He continued speaking, seemingly unaware of my dismay.

"You may not be aware, Jane, that in olden times - long before Christ - this act that society deems as shameful was seen as the holiest of rites."

"Well, of course, sir - within the bounds of marriage, the carnal act is very necessary for continuing the species..." Again, he gave himself over to laughter.

"Jane, do you want children of your own?" Before I could formulate an answer, one leapt from me.

"God forbid, sir!" Now it was his turn to be taken aback. He paused in his tracks to gaze at me, with the look of one who is not certain if he recognizes the creature before him.

"Good woman, Jane!" He laughed, low and sincere. "I knew you were a fiery soul, but I had not expected quite that response. So, since you don't want children of your own, does it make sense that you should want marriage, with all that entails? More to the point, does it stand to reason that you should want - pardon me for speaking bluntly, my fairy - to lie down with a man to whom you are not yet wed?" My blush was rising, but I refused to give in.

"Sir, marriage was first created that man might not be alone and lonely - created to provide for companionship throughout the long days of our lives. Thus, while childbearing is an important and holy function - whatever I, as a sinful woman, might desire in my own heart - it is not the totality of marriage. As to the other...well, sir, any notions you had of my angelic nature should be quite stripped away." My master gave a longsuffering sigh, as one who was tutoring a difficult child. He placed an arm around my shoulders pulling me to him, enveloping me in his embrace.

"Oh, Janet, I would that the mysteries of the old gods were still practiced in this land or on the Continent, that you might see how the wonders of the Almighty are made manifest in the embraces of love." He must have sensed my disapproval, for he said quickly, "You knew I was a rogue, Jane? Knew I was an irreligious heathen?" I nodded, still wrapped in his arms.

"Jane, this religion, with its multitudinous rules and denial of the flesh - it was not made for men such as me, men whose blood flows strongly, whose hearts quicken at the sight of a beautiful form. And," here his voice changed, deepened, and his hand raised to caress my cheek, "it was not made for women such as you, my sprite. Your soul was not made to be confined by the dictates of tired old men who would take a gospel of liberation and love and make it into a manifesto on chastity and propriety. I have no quarrel with Christ - did he not dine with publicans? Did he not take up with prostitutes? Then surely he would have shared a merry cup of wine with me."

There was a companionable silence between us as he stroked my hair, and I considered this image in my mind's eye - the compassionate savior, whom I had loved most of my life, and the brusque master, so lately the object of my adoration, discussing the benefits of god-created wine over the usual sort.

"Why do you tremble, Jane?"

“I...I was imagining such a meeting betwixt you and Christ, sir.” I bowed my head to hide my flush, “Mr. Rochester, you are turning me into quite a heathen - these thoughts must be outright heresy.”

“Well, Jane, Christ was thought to be something of a heretic himself by the priests of his day, was he not? There is also a...legend, of sorts, very popular in Southern France - where, by the by, I have a villa, to which I shall take you after we are wed - that Christ was not as chaste and unwed as is popularly supposed. It is thought that he and Mary the Magdalene were married, and that their union was the very model of holy pleasure. I know not if this is accurate, but it is a pretty supposition.”

“Mr. Rochester...I...you need not exert yourself to convince me of these things. They will not change the fact that there are some things that needs must be saved for the marriage bed.” I looked at my beloved’s face, and was taken aback to see an expression of genuine sadness and dismay.

“Jane! Is that what you think I’m trying to achieve? I told you, promised you, that I would not do more than you asked of me, and I am a man of my word. I tease you with words - I like to provoke you, to make the blush rise to your cheeks, and I hope that, by our wedding, some of my words will have helped to convince you that the acts of love are neither shameful nor sinful. I do not wish to convince you into a compromise that you would later regret - I wish only to ensure that when we do enjoy each other’s bodies, you will do so without shame or guilt.”

“I am sorry, sir...I just cannot help thinking that you, as a man of the world, a man who has known these pleasures, must be ravenous for them.”

“No apologies, Janet. It shows good sense that you would be on your guard. I tell you, though, you can trust me. You are my dear little friend, soon to be wife, and I will not lead you astray. I am, as you observe, rather hungry for the joys I have so long been without, but I am more than willing to endure privation until you are as hungry and ready for it as I am.” I clutched his arm tighter, feeling my head swim with vague images of bodies meeting, equal in desire and equal in pleasure. He chuckled, stroking my hand.

“Come, my beauty. Let us go see what Adelè is doing.”


	3. The Beauty of Forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rochester is a well-read dude, and pretty culturally literate. Jane loves to learn. Rochester will turn this to his advantage, obviously.

“You see, Jane, Dionysos was a god of liberation, not merely wine. In intoxication - whether the intoxication of wine, of music, of dancing, or of love - we are freed from the normal strictures and bounds of society. The women dancing with him - they are called maenads - show that the gifts of Dionysos are for everyone. Even women. He, like you, fire-spirit, knew that women are the equals of men, and perhaps had even more need for liberation from bonds placed on them by society.”

We were seated on the library sofa, pouring over a book of paintings inspired by Greek mythology. Mr. Rochester was explicating, and I was admiring. I had not seen much great art before, and though Edward maintained that books were no substitute for museums, he said it should suffice for the time being, and consented to be my docent through the paper gallery. It seemed to me that he chose to linger longest over those pieces calculated to stimulate and inflame passion. My suspicions were confirmed when he turned the leaf from the Bacchanalia to a representation of that same, beautiful boy-god crouching over what appeared to be a grave, with an expression of agony or great ecstasy - I could not discern which - on his face.

“Now here,” Mr. Rochester continued, “we see that Dionysos, too, is a god of his word. The young man who lies buried there, Polymnos, offered to help Dionysus when he was seeking the entrance to Hades. As a reward, Polymnos demanded that Dionysos lie with him and grant him pleasure.” My eyes went wide - all I knew of such things was what I had gleaned from Leviticus and St. Paul - depictions both unfavorable and unclear.  

“ However,” he continued, “when Dionysos returned from Hades, he found that Polymnos had died. In order to honor his bargain, he formed for himself an instrument of wood, and secured it, as you see here, in the grave where Polymnos lay. In this way, he fulfilled his promise.” Mr Rochester’s voice had descended to his lowest, most passionate tones during this tale. I shivered to hear him conclude.

“Mr. Rochester, do you...have you...done such things yourself? With...with a man?”

“Yes, my beauty. When I had a willing partner, I engaged in such pleasures often. Does it trouble you?”

“All I know of this, sir, are the admonitions in the Bible against it. It does not seem that such forms of...love are sanctioned.”

“True, Janet,” his hand settled at the back of my neck, stroking the hair there, “but the Bible does sanction things we now find repugnant - slavery and animal sacrifice being only two of those. We do not condone those things. Must we reject this only because the Bible says so? It harms no one, and creates pleasure.” His face was now close to mine, breath warm on my neck.

I closed my eyes, and an image of the beautiful boy-god, naked and ecstatic, with Mr. Rochester naked behind him, arose in my mind. I gasped, and clutched Mr. Rochester’s leg. His fingers tightened in my hair, and our mouths met in a searing kiss. Mr. Rochester’s fingers tightened, gripping the hair at the nape of my neck, and I gasped against him at the thrill of pain that was like no other pain I had experienced. I knew that, by all rights, this should be an unpleasant sensation, but instead, it kindled in me the most audacious sorts of desires. 

“Ho, Janet! My faerie has teeth!” Mr. Rochester pulled back from the kiss in wonderment.

“I...I am sorry, sir...I know not what came over me.” He chuckled, and shook his head.

“No shame, Jane, in acting on the promptings of desire. I confess, though, I had not expected quite such fire from you...at least, not so soon.”

“Then...I did not do wrong, sir? Surely, biting is not a natural way to show affection. ‘Tis certainly a depraved nature, that returns pain for pleasure.”

“Jane, I fear I have misjudged my actions. I meant, in exposing you to such stories and images, only to stoke the sacred fires of desire in you, and to show you that such flames are indeed blessed by our Creator. It seems, though, that all I have accomplished is to increase your shame at finding your carnal nature as strong and vigorous as your other faculties. Forgive me, darling.”

I sat for a moment, pondering. If I were to accept that the congress of bodies was not _only_ a necessary evil, but also a gift in its own right, then I must also accept that my dear Edward knew more of this gift than I did. Of course, that did **not** mean that I had to accept that he had dealt virtuously in acquiring his knowledge of this gift...but, of a surety, he knew more of it than I did.

"Sir, if you tell me that there is no wrongness in a passion so great that it edges on violence, I shall believe you. To tell the truth, I found it strangely satisfying to...to inflict and receive these keener sensations."

"Jane, we are animals. Reasoning, feeling, spiritual animals - but animals nonetheless. Have you ever seen animals coupling? Cats or dogs, perhaps?" I affirmed that I had - there were both about Thornfield and Millcote.

"Have you not observed that they sometimes bite at each other? We are far more fortunate than they, for we have been gifted with the possibility of greater pleasure in the acts of love - but we are animals still. The impulse toward loving and the impulse toward devouring are very, very close, Janet. This is another thing Dionysos, with his wild women tells us."

"Indeed, sir...but I should not like to treat you as they did poor Orpheus in the throes of my passions."

"Ah, my dear, Orpheus died because he refused the ladies their due. I should never refuse you anything." He stroked my cheek, soothing and inflaming me all at once. "I believe, Jane, that very little is truly sinful when it comes to enjoying the bodies our Creator gave us."

"What is it you _do_ find sinful, sir?" 

"I shall pass over your surprise that I should find anything sinful. Yes, Jane, I do still have a conscience - anything that has the faintest whiff of coercion or force is sinful. These acts must be entered into freely, willingly, or not at all. That is the abomination, Janet, not finding pleasure with a fellow creature. Secondly, I also think that any practices that cause permanent harm are sinful. We are, after all, stewards of these bodies - and we have an obligation to care for them." As he spoke, he had been stroking my hair - no more - but his eyes had been wandering over my form, tracing my lineaments, and I could not help trembling at the thought that _my_ body might soon be his to care for, as his would soon be mine.

He must have seen this in my eyes, for his became dark and hooded. One hand slid into my hair, cradling my head, while the other caught my wrist and drew me to him. "Shall I show you, then, my sprite, what it is you did to me? Shall I show you why I welcome your lovely teeth in my flesh? Shall I show you how much I long to devour your sweetness, body and soul?"

"Oh, sir...I..."

"Come, Janet, I am a man of my word," he said, exhaling on my neck, "you must ask for it if you want it."

"Please, please, sir...please, Edward. Please show me."

Oh, worldly reader - laugh at me if you will, to be so easily undone, but my Edward was a skilled practitioner of his art. His lips descended on my neck, so gently, opening so that I felt the merest brush of teeth. The next instant, he held me between those teeth, my pulse beating under his tongue. I clutched at him with all of my might, overflowing with desire to feel that firm bite deepen, for some release from the pressure under my skin, centered between my legs. 

At last, he pulled back - hair mussed and eyes ablaze. "I think we have seen enough art for today, my dove." He planted a quick kiss on my lips. "I shall be pleased to see you for dinner."

And with that, he promptly exited the library, leaving me quite bewildered, and not a little unsatisfied. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read about Polymnos and Dionysos here: http://www.theoi.com/Olympios/DionysosLoves.html#Polymnos.
> 
> I made up the painting referenced in the story...but, believe me, it's a stunning and lovely picture in my head.


	4. Love Thee With Mine Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is learning to ask for what she wants. And what she wants, among other things, is visual proof of the pleasure-in-love that her fiancé extols.

"I should like to see you pleasure yourself, sir."

Mr. Rochester gaped - there is no other word for it - at me. "At last," thought I, "I have repaid you for the times you have rendered me speechless and embarrassed."

"Jane, I don't understand...do you want me to..."

"Sir, I was given to understand that you are well-versed in the ways of love, having explored these arts with men and women alike. Even I, in my ignorance, am aware that it is possible for men to experience some of the pleasures of love at their own hands. Are you telling me that, in all your vast experience, you have never indulged in this?" My beloved master blinked at me, shaking his head as though he had just awoken from sleep.

"You minx. You wily, fey thing. I am beginning to think you are correct - you are certainly no angel. Which is just as well, since I am no saint. Yes, Jane, it's true - both men and women can taste the delights of love, to some extent, without the help of a partner. But...you don't find this sinful?"

"After contemplating our conversation in the library, I have come to the conclusion that if our carnal nature - and the pleasure we derive from it - is indeed a divine gift, then your code is vastly more practical than those laws outlined in the Old Testament. I am not yet convinced that your method of implementing this code is altogether virtuous - but at the least, the solo pursuit of pleasure seems harmless by these standards."

He laughed, freely and loud. "Oh, my dear. Oh, Jane. You will never cease to surprise me. If this is what you want, be sure I will grant it, with pleasure. One question, though - why do you not ask for assistance in discovering this pleasure for yourself? Why watch, when you could be doing?"

This was a good question - one I had asked of myself, as well. "I could say, sir, that it would seem to be a lesser transgression on my purity. In truth, though, it is merely less frightening to me. I hear you speak of pleasure, of happiness and ecstasy, but the feelings you evoke in me, sir, are terrifying in their violence. I am afraid of what I might do under their full influence. To...to see you experience them, and come through unscathed...this would reassure me, sir."

"As usual, I cannot fault your reasoning. Well, then, Janet, shall we retire to the library? I would have no compunctions about bringing you to my chamber...but I believe your sense of propriety demands that we avoid such an _obvious_ breach." 

A few moments later, Mr. Rochester having informed Ms. Fairfax that we would be "reviewing plans for Adèle's education" in the library, and would come down for tea, we had situated ourselves on the same sofa that had seen our embraces some days earlier. I was studiously attempting to steady my breathing, for despite my brave words, my pulse was fluttering like a bird's wings, and my gown seemed unaccountably stifling. I suppose I had expected my betrothed to immediately begin the task I had set him (such was my estimation of a man's desire), but instead, Mr. Rochester drew me to him, stroking my hair and kissing my mouth. He held my face in his hands, and my lower lip betwixt his teeth, giving me such a strange sensation - as though he held my whole being at his command. And then, most shocking, his wicked, clever tongue stroked my lip. I am not ashamed to say that I cried out in surprise.

"Jane, your eyes are round as saucers! Come, what have I done now?"

"Well, sir...your..." my words stumbled - it seemed obscene to even name what he had done, though it had thrilled me all through - "your tongue, sir. I did...I did not know that was part of kissing. You never did so, before, though I suppose it stands to reason. And, too, sir, I had not thought that, being given license as you were, that you would dally with lesser acts."

"Lesser acts! Lesser acts, you name these? Oh, no, my beauty. This," and he kissed me again, again pulling my lip into his teeth, again showing me the agility of his tongue, "this, Jane, is why I prefer our caresses to such lonely pleasures as I can provide myself. My darling, any man - any one - who does not take the time to stoke the fires of love with lips and teeth and tongue is a fool, and misses a great part of the pleasure. By and by, love, if you consent, I will show you more of what our tongues can do, how they can imitate the very act of love, and..."

"Mr. Rochester, I _must_ ask that you put this aside. I begin, sir, to think that even these acts may be too much for me - behold, sir, how I tremble!"

"I see, Jane, and, rogue that I am, it fires my passions to see you finding your own." His voice was at its deepest, reader, the low tones that shook me to my very core, "But as you say, my fairy. Our sport has left me very ready to fulfill your request, if you still wish to continue." Not trusting my own voice, I nodded, and made ready to disentangle myself from my master's embrace. "Nay, Jane, if you can bear it, stay here in my arm. It delights me and spurs my pleasure to have you so near - hold my hand, stroke my hair, Jane, and you will add greatly to my joy."

So I stayed there, nestled into the crook of his left arm, as he deftly undid his trousers with his right. I had, at this stage of my life, only the vaguest of notions about male anatomy, and that mostly from glancing the couplings of animals. So when my dear lover's manhood sprang from his trousers, already firm and flushed, I was quite taken aback. It seemed frighteningly large and insistent in its tumescence, but yet, less strange and foreign than I had expected - it was, like my Edward himself - wild, but entirely human. He closed his fingers about it with a groan, and began a slow, firm stroking . "You see, Jane," and his low tones had acquired a breathless quality, "this fellow here stands to attention as a result of our play. If I were alone, and not in your sweet company, I would have to arouse his interest with thoughts of you - of your smile, your kiss, and your fairy's form hidden beneath your gown." As he spoke, his eyes roved over my face and form, as though he were attempting to see beneath the layers of wool and linen. The motions of his hand increased in speed, and his breathing likewise quickened. My hand strayed to tangle in his thick locks, stroking his neck. I did not fail to notice that this, too, caused him to redouble his efforts, and his face took on a look very much like that on the wine-god's face when paying his due to poor dead Polymnos.

"Are you in pain, sir?" He laughed, short and sharp, "No, Jane. 'Tis - ah! - ecstasy, not agony, that you see in my face. Oh, my lovely Jane, how good it is feel your hands on me! So sweet, Janet," his left arm pulled me more strongly to him, "Kiss me, Jane?" In a fit of mischief, delighting at seeing him so undone, I caught the hand that held me, and pressed my lips to his fingers, letting my own tongue slip out to probe the crease betwixt them, just as he had on my lips. I felt the great shudder that wracked his body, and looked up barely in time to see his crisis - his seed spattering his trousers, and a look on his face as though he were, for the moment, beyond this world. I stayed perfectly still, thinking that this was no very reassuring thing, if the pleasure one could find at one's own hand was so debilitating - and if it _was_ pleasure, for despite his words, I maintained my doubts.

But, indeed, my own blood was racing with the excitement of what I had seen, and I responded hungrily when Mr. Rochester recovered himself enough to pull me once more into a kiss, his hand at my neck; his tongue bolder, stroking my lips and - wonder of wonders - my own tongue in a rhythm much like that of his hand upon himself. The force of the passion that rose in me, I now perceived, sought some release as I had seen my beloved achieve - and oh! how I ached for it! What cared I for propriety or morality now, when the whole of my being was consumed with the sweetest of pains, the most exquisite of longings? I think I would have given Mr. Rochester anything he cared to have of me in that moment, but he pulled back, and recollected himself, taking a deep breath and pulling out his handkerchief.

"But, sir, I..." I did not even know, then, what to ask for, in my desire. "Sir, I _need you_."

"And I need thee, Janet." He looked at me more closely, stroking my face. "Ah, my dearest, I see. I have been careless, Jane, and inflamed thy passions almost beyond bearing. You will think me cruel, my love, but I can give thee no satisfaction tonight. I gave my word, Janet, that I would do nothing more until you asked me...and," he continued, overriding my attempt to interject, "anything asked in such a moment as this cannot be trusted, Jane. If I consented - as I long to do - you might regret it, on the morrow." I saw the sense in this, and subsided, but I trembled still with the force of my excitement. "But ask me again, Jane, tomorrow, or the next day, after we have had time apart, and I will grant whatever you ask." This was sense, much as I was loath to see it.

"Mr. Rochester - Edward - never did I think that _you_ would be the model of restraint in these matters. Fine, you are in the right, sir. But tell me - was it really pleasure? Your...your crisis, sir, seemed to pull you right out of this world. You looked as though you were dying." He laughed, and pressed me to him, beginning to mop up his spattered trousers with his handkerchief.

"Yes, my dear. Poignant, keen, thrilling - any fine words you like, Jane - pleasure. My little love, who speaks French with such a clever tongue - and by the by, Janet, _what_ a clever tongue you have! You quite undid me, minx - have you heard the phrase 'le petit mort?'"

"Not as such, sir - but it means 'the little death.'"

"Indeed, Jane. That is what the French name that moment of crisis - as you saw, they have the right of it. It obliterates thought, care, worry - it is powerful, Jane, which is why the priests and politicians would have you be suspicious of it. Contrary to my own actions in the past, I also do not suggest engaging in it with those unworthy of your trust - for it is overwhelming in its force, and may have the effect of producing the semblance of love for the one who brought you to the crisis, even if such love it unmerited. But it is good, Jane, do not doubt it." We sat like that, his hands stroking my hair while I wondered at the changes to his member in the aftermath of pleasure - how rapid the change from the proud, upright carriage I had first seen to this more homely, unassuming pose. At last, the bell sounded below for tea, and we roused ourselves.

"Now, Jane, we must be subject to propriety once more - but before we go, I encourage you to put your own hands to work, tonight, in the safety of your bed. I cannot help you in this tonight, but there is nothing to stop you from helping yourself. It may be less overwhelming to make your own discoveries, so. Only remember that your body is created in the image of Him who holds Heaven and Earth, and created _good_." He paused, smiling down at me, "And be sure to tell me, sprite, if you do so, and how you find it." With this, he kissed me soundly, and strode out of the library, leaving me quite flustered and with a good deal to ponder.


	5. And Saw That It Was Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane takes her lover's advice, in this as in all (most) things, and begins a closer friendship with her body.

As I lay in the dark of my room that night, I became keenly aware of just how much of a stranger I was to my own body. Of course, I had some basic knowledge of my own anatomy and functions - one cannot avoid it when (pardon my bluntness, kind reader) one must find ways to avoid bleeding on one's outer garments for several days out of each month - but I soon found that it was rudimentary at best. Indeed, it was not merely my sex with which I was unfamiliar - my whole lower body had, heretofore, been only a means of conveyance for the organs of reason and feeling housed in the upper half. I had not expected such sensitivity that my nerves would thrill at the touch of fingers on my thighs, nor my muscles loosen like cords unbound when I applied more pressure.

Encouraged by these discoveries, I proceeded to examine my belly, noting with pleasure that the bones of my hips stood out less sharply now than they had when I left Lowood, that there was some softness in the rise of my abdomen. I would never have a form like Blanche Ingram, and when my hands reached my breasts, I felt a pang of regret for their scantiness...but that disappeared in a moment, lost in a flood of sensation as my fingers found their peaks. In truth, reader, I was not sure if I liked it or not, for it verged on pain, but my brain helpfully inquired, "Ah, but mightn't it be better if it were dear Edward's hands? Or even - perchance - his delicious mouth?" I am unashamed to say that I gasped aloud, and hoped desperately that all other members of the house were safe in their beds.

At last, I marshaled my courage and directed my hands to the juncture of my thighs, where I had felt that exquisite pressure begging for release. Carefully, I explored my mound of Venus, enchanted by its curls - so thick, and yet so soft. My fingers parted the petals, vividly aware of the change from woolly soft to silky smooth - and damp! The night was cool; I was not sweating as I had been in the library (for so I accounted for the feeling of moisture in this area). I soon determined that the source of the moisture seemed to be that same passage by which I bled and where I might soon be joined to my beloved in union of flesh as well as spirit. I noted how easily my fingers slipped along my inner lips, and Reason and Desire spoke in chorus, "And by this fluid may your lover's way be eased, when the time comes, that your sex may better accommodate the size of him." At this, a shudder ran through my whole body, and I longed, longed as I had in the library.

Alas, though, I had not my Edward to guide my movements, so my efforts were fumbling, though pleasant - until I happened upon that organ which my lover would call, at a later time, "the pearl of great price." Such a small thing, so unassuming, hidden away at the apex of my folds! Yet, the slightest touch sent lightning all through my veins, rattled and shook me with the intensity of sensation. Surely this, then, was a sure source of relief for the longing within me, the wellspring of pleasure my master had hoped I should find. My efforts stuttered, though, as each touch overwhelmed me with sensation - I found that I could not maintain contact. My fingertips were damp with my own fluids, so they glided easily over my flesh, but each time they encountered that bundle of nerves, my had flew away, as from a hot kettle. I began to despair of my capacity to endure such sharp pleasures, when Reason prompted that a buffer might be of help. I attempted again to touch that most sensitive of organs, but this time _through_ my undergarments.

Where direct contact had been shocking, overwhelming in its power, I found that with thin cotton between my fingers and my flesh, the pleasure was much more manageable. Instead of striking me like lighting, it seemed to swell and grow like waves, rolling toward the shore. As my pleasure grew, my fingers seemed to be moving of their own accord - alternately stroking firmly, brushing lightly, and circling, keeping time to the pulsing of my heart. Even this slower-growing delight, though, threatened to overwhelm me - there seemed to be too much sensation to contain within the bounds of my body. Despite the suspicion that the pleasure, when it finally peaked, would rip me into pieces, my fingers continued undeterred, speeding with the mounting need within me. At last, at last, gentle reader, the waves _did_ crash over me, and I found myself breathing as though I had run a long, long way, feeling a series of sweet, strong contractions in my womanly muscles, that put me in mind of the way my dear lover's sex had pulsed when he found his own crisis.

Indeed, I did not fly apart - as you must have guessed - but found myself quite spent, all my limbs pervaded with a sweet languor and a deep sense of contentment. As my breathing quieted, and my heart's beating slowed to a more reasonable pace, I reflected that I at last understood why so many of those who practice this art of self-pleasuring cannot bring themselves to believe it sinful. If St. Paul was correct, and 'tis better to marry than burn with lust, it seems that this may provide a third option - such a harmless way to dispell the burning of passion, to quiet and focus the mind. My body felt all the better for the release; my mind was quieted; and my heart content...and yet, the voices of my childhood arose, admonishing me that the body, sinful thing that this is, may not be trusted. Its wants and needs must, in fact, be disregarded in preference for the spirit, lest one fall into sin.

Moreover, I mused, how should I know if I were to fall into error? My time at Thornfield, living among people who took it as plain sense that nourishing and seeing to the comfort of the body was part and parcel of an upright and godly life, had roundly negated Mr. Brocklehurst's abstemious theology. I had long ago resolved that the interpretations of the Holy Writ put forth by such clergymen as I personally knew could not be the only possible readings - but I was not so proud as to think my own understanding faultless. I tossed and turned for some time, wrestling with this question. At last, I found myself praying fervently, first giving thanks that my Maker had gifted me with a body capable of such great delights (for does not Genesis say that upon our creation, the Lord created us, body and soul, and saw that we were good?), then asking to be prevented from falling into true error, no matter how pleasant it might appear. Perhaps, had the hour not been so late, nor my senses so lately overwhelmed, I might have considered that my notion of "true error" was becoming quite vague, indeed - but as it was, I was much comforted by my devotions, and soon slept soundly.

* * *

"I did as you advised, sir." Mr. Rochester's steps faltered for a moment, then he resumed his place beside me.

"Did you indeed, Janet?" I had resolved, dear reader, to neither blush nor stammer when I confessed this to my master - for, surely, I had naught to be ashamed of - but I felt the color rising to my cheeks, unbidden. "And how did you find it?"

"Most instructive, sir. I confess, I thought myself unequipped to bear the..." My words caught in my throat, but I held firm - no simpering! No coy evasions! "The force of the pleasure of which I am capable. As you see, though, my worries were for unfounded, and I have emerged unscathed." Mr. Rochester paused his steps, catching my hands in his. I saw this his face, too, was flushed - not with exercise, as we were merely strolling in the garden. His eyes roamed over me, taking in my face and form, looking for I knew not what.

"Unscathed, Janet? You may as well say the flower emerges from the bud unscathed! My darling, you fairly radiate with the joy and pleasure of this new knowledge." I did not like to encourage this sort of effusive sentiment, but I could not deny that I felt visibly changed - that my whole demeanor must bespeak what I had discovered. Propriety admonished me that it was unseemly that a maid should be surrounded by an aura of contentment brought on by such carnal pleasure, that it was only just that my cheeks should color with shame as well as excited remembrance, but I clung to Joy, who urged me to rejoice and be glad.

"I fear you are correct, sir. I do feel as though I am lit from within, illuminated by this experience, and that it is plain for all to see. I hope...I hope 'tis not so plain to others as it is to you."

"Nay, Jane," he replied, reaching out to smooth my hair, "the rest of the world will see your happiness, but they will not guess its source. They will think it is in anticipation of the wedding, or the enjoyment of a beautiful day." I caught his hand from where it cradled my cheek, and pressed a kiss to the fingers I loved so well, all overcome with love, gratitude, and desire. He gasped, and tightened his fingers in mine. For a long moment, he seemed to be composing himself before speaking.

"How you undo me, Jane! Your frankness stokes my passion more than any artful words or coy demurrals. I long to know the fullness of you, and yet, watching each new delight take you is sweeter by far than the mad rush that my passions demand," and here, he gathered me close, in the shelter of an arbor, holding me against him that I might feel the strength of his desire. I understood him, reader - had I, too, not felt the urgent need to cast propriety to the winds, and give myself over to pleasure? Had I not desired to know all there was to know of my betrothed, cost me what it might? And yet, had I not found such keen pleasures, such unexpected enjoyments in the communion of hands and lips we had so far shared? I made to speak, but desire and love took my words, and it was all I could do to turn and bury my head in my lover's shoulder.

After a time, he raised my chin, and kissed me with a sigh. "Do not worry, Jane. It is better, so. I feel you tremble - I think it is with an answering desire, rather than shame or fear. That is well. God willing, we shall have many years together and plenty of time to explore and refine these pastimes at our leisure."

"As you say, sir. I had thought - sir, I had planned to ask you if, now that I have gained this knowledge on my own, you would make good on your word to show me pleasure at your own hands." Mr. Rochester's arms tightened around me, but I continued, "Now, though, as much as I desire it, I am afraid that I could not contain myself, that I would not stop with that only. Your words are very wise - we will have time, and plenty of it, and I hope you will not be disappointed that I need more time to grow acquainted with this new faculty." My beloved only smiled fondly, and shook his head.

"No, Jane, never disappointed. I long for the day you bare your form to me and permit me to please you, 'tis true, but I mean to savor every moment until then as well. I can offer you ways to offset the fear you feel, though, so when the time comes..." At this moment, however, Adèle's clear tones rang out, announcing the lunch hour. Mr. Rochester appeared ready to continue his theme, but I insisted that we must go in, lest someone come looking.

"Hmph! Spoilsport. Minx. No, you are in the right. Well, we shall talk of this later." He pulled me into a kiss, and would have drawn it out till my legs shook, but I pulled away out of self-preservation, darting towards the house fast as I dared, his loving imprecations following me inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in posting. I have so many ideas, and am so bad about actually sitting down and writing. Thank you for your patience, your kind comments, and your encouragement.


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